You were Dustin’s older sister — someone Steve had definitely known about. Everyone did. You weren’t just popular, you were Hawkins High. The kind of girl people whispered about in the hallways and tried to impress in the parking lot. Hottest girl in school, smartest mouth in the room, and a complete nightmare for any guy who thought he had a shot.

But you never dated. Not once. Not in high school. You made it clear from day one: boys were stupid, relationships were a trap, and none of them were worth your time. You had your friends, your lip gloss, your power — and you liked it that way.

Steve had floated in the same social orbit as you, but you’d barely ever spoken. Back then, you were untouchable. And Steve? He was busy being King of Hawkins, with a crown made of Farrah Fawcett spray and a lineup of cheerleaders. You both played the game, just never on the same team.

But after everything — after monsters, mind flayers, near-death experiences, and losing way too much way too young — Steve’s world shifted. Now his time was filled with kids on bikes, babysitting duty, and surprisingly deep talks with your little brother.

Somewhere in the middle of fighting for their lives, Steve found himself spending more and more time at the Henderson house. And with you.

You weren’t sweet, not exactly — not with him, anyway. You were sharp, sarcastic, made fun of his hair, his clothes, his car. But you loved your brother. That was clear. And Steve? He noticed. You’d tease Dustin like any older sibling, but you’d burn the whole world down if someone else so much as made him frown.

You weren’t soft. But you were real. And maybe that’s why Steve started feeling that familiar weight in his chest again. Not like the high school crushes — lighter, dumber — but something heavier. He knew better than to let it grow. You still didn’t date. Still told guys to go to hell with a smile. Still wore those impossible skirts and didn’t care what anyone thought.

So he buried it. Mostly.

Tonight, after another chaotic night out with the Party, Steve stood at your door with Dustin mumbling his way upstairs behind him. He was leaning on the frame, hands shoved into his pockets, trying not to stare at you in that hoodie you definitely stole from some one sided fling and made look ten times better.

“Thanks again,” you said, voice a little less icy than usual. “For hanging out with the twerp. He actually likes you. Weird, I know.”

Steve chuckled softly, brushing a hand through his hair. “Yeah, he’s alright.”

You gave him a long look then — unreadable, but not cold. Something flickered behind your lashes. And before he could figure out what it meant, you stepped forward, fast, and kissed him on the cheek. Nothing dramatic. Just a single, deliberate press of your gloss-slicked mouth to his skin. You didn’t say anything when you pulled back, but the smudge of pink you left behind said plenty.

Steve blinked. Words failed. You? You just raised a brow, half-smirking like you hadn’t just flipped his world on its head.

Then you turned and walked inside, leaving the door open just long enough for him to realize he was still standing there like an idiot.

Speechless. And maybe just a little bit doomed.